


And the Wolf Lay Down With the Lion

by PlayingTheGameOfThrones



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, NSFW, collection of drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingTheGameOfThrones/pseuds/PlayingTheGameOfThrones
Summary: A collection of NSFW drabbles, some of which were originally posted to Tumblr.





	1. Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> The first two chapters were originally posted to Tumblr but, in an effort to not be deleted due to their new guidelines regarding adult content, I decided to move them here to avoid deleting them entirely.

Sansa Stark jolted awake, head still half in a dream. She shoved her hand through her curls and discovered a sweaty brow. Her chest heaved and she reminded herself it was only a dream, only a dream. 

But that was no comfort. Why had she dreamt of that, of all things? She hadn’t seen her wayward husband since…she didn’t even know how long it had been. Nearly a year, surely. Far too long ago to still be dreaming of him, and such dreams as that!

She did her best to keep the thoughts out of her mind as she laid back down and attempted to return to sleep, but images kept replaying themselves in her mind until she knew she was awake for good, and lit the candle beside her.   
She could see him there in her mind, grinning ruefully up at her from where he had been kissing her between her legs, something she hadn’t even known men and women could do to each other, let alone something she hadn’t known she wanted. And from him. Her husband she had run away from, her husband who might be dead. Tyrion.

And that hadn’t even been the end of it! She blew out the candle and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep by force, but the dream kept wiggling back in her brain: Tyrion putting himself inside her, the pain and then the pleasure, her mouth forming the shape of his name, and him gasping hers. “Sansa,” he’d said in the dream as she twisted her fingers into his golden curls.

No one had called her Sansa in a very long time. And somehow, that was the most intimate part of all.


	2. Three Weeks

Sansa Stark’s husband has been gone for three weeks.

They haven’t been apart this long since she’d run off with Petyr Baelish and he’d been arrested. So many years ago now. But still, Sansa is surprised to find herself missing him, even longing for him.

Some parts of her more than others.   
Although their first marriage had been built on the promise that Tyrion would not share their bed until she wanted him to, Sansa had made certain their new union – first devised by the dragon queen on her way to Winterfell and later by herself and Tyrion – was consummated as quickly as possible. She would never again be traded to the highest bidder because her marriage had remained unconsummated. Sansa thought she knew what to expect, having been told of what happens on women’s wedding nights first by her mother and later by her septa. But Tyrion had surprised her with the things he could do to her body that night, and had continued surprising her almost every night since then.

Except for the last three weeks. And Sansa was growing restless. So when she spots him reentering Winterfell’s gates, she has him sent to their bedchamber, and lies on their bed.

“Sansa?” Tyrion asks when he steps inside, dropping the leather saddlebag with his belongings beside the door. “Are you sick? Why are you in bed?”

Sansa shakes her head and gestures for him to join her. “I missed your mouth.”

Tyrion grins and wastes no time clambering into their bed, sliding her dress up her legs. “Did you?” he asks, a growl in his throat.

Sansa already feels weak in the knees, and can only nod as he ducks his head between her legs and delves his tongue inside her. To both their surprise, Sansa lets out a laugh at the sensation.

“Why are you laughing?” Tyrion asks, his brow furrowed.

“Your beard,” she explains. “It tickles.”   
Tyrion smiles and goes back to work, licking and sucking at her sensitive flesh. Sansa cries out again and again, her fingers tugging on her husband’s blonde curls.

After he’s made her come more times than she can keep track of, she smiles wickedly and sets her hands to undoing his breeches. “Time to return the favor.”


End file.
